~~ Cisco Estate — Nightfall ~~
The Cisco estate always felt like a tomb, a monument to a cold that seeped deeper than skin. It coiled beneath the surface, a silent, watchful presence.
Tonight, though, the chill felt different. It wasn't the marble floors or the guards' glacial stares. It was me.
I moved through the black marble foyer, each step deliberate, and into the room Gabriel grandly called
"internal family strategy." The long, thin table was a weapon in itself, designed to make anyone seated there feel exposed, judged. A feeling intimately familiar since I was forced to occupy those chairs as a child.
But tonight, the girl he molded, the one who dutifully absorbed his strategies, was gone. Now, I was the anomaly, the threat he couldn't quite control, let alone predict.
Gabriel sat at the head, his ringed fingers steepled beneath his sharp chin. His gray hair, slicked back like polished steel, gleamed under the recessed lighting.
Flanking him were the usual vultures: Angelo Moretti, the aging patriarch of old Italian money. Barak Malik, the Persian king of shadows and smuggled goods.
A5 Nicu Kalderash, the Romani fixer whose smiles never reached his calculating eyes.
Power, greed, fear – a tangible hum beneath their expensive tailoring, all of it focused on the phantom menace that was Sinveer De Luna.
Gabriel's voice, honed sharp over decades of command, sliced through the silence. "Thank you for joining us," he said, his gaze coolly assessing. "You're late, Liach."
I offered a dismissive shrug, a small act of rebellion. "Only by your standards, Papa." The endearment felt like ashin my mouth.
A flicker of annoyance tightened his jaw. Nicu, ever the opportunist, hid a smirk behind his hand. Barak's gaze remained fixed, unreadable. Angelo didn't even bother to acknowledge my presence.
I took the empty seat without waiting for an invitation, a silent declaration of my shifting status. Barak, ever direct, broke the strained silence. "You said you had something for us, girl."
Gabriel's eyes flickered towards me, a subtle command. "Liach, the files."
Every head snapped in my direction. For years, I'd been the silent observer in this room. Tonight, the attention felt different, charged. I pulled a slim black folder from my bag, the weight of its contents familiar and dangerous. Sliding it across the polished table, the smooth click echoed in the tense air.
"What is this?" Angelo's demand held a note of suspicion.
I allowed a small, controlled smile to touch my lips. "Proof Sinveer De Luna isn't just shuffling containers at the docks." My gaze swept across their faces, gauging their reactions. "He's building an empire beyond our reach. An off-ledger fleet, private security forces with global contracts, bribed officials greasing his every move, and laundering schemes so deep they're buried under foreign shell companies."
"Impossible," Barak scoffed, but his eyes were already glued to the folder.
I leaned back in my chair, feigning nonchalance. "Check the transfer logs.
The shell corporation filings. And perhaps have a quiet word with Judge Rossi – the one sitting two seats down from your last little get-
together, Angelo."
Barak's thick fingers fumbled as he flipped open the folder. Nicu let out a low whistle, his dark eyes gleaming with a predatory interest. Even Gabriel's lips curved into a thin, almost pleased smile.
A dangerous sign.
"Where the hell did you get this?" Angelo's growl held a sharper edge now.
I picked up my glass of water, the cool glass a small comfort against the heat of their stares. I took a slow, deliberate sip, prolonging the moment. "I have my ways," I said simply, letting the ambiguity hang in the air. Let them wonder at the extent of my reach, my network. Let them underestimate the lengths I would go.
The room erupted. Barak's immediate demand for retaliation clashed with Angelo's cautious calculation of political fallout. Nicu watched the unfolding chaos with the detached amusement of a pyromaniac admiring his handiwork.
For twenty minutes, the predictable dance of power played out. Threats were exchanged, strategies debated, alliances subtly shifted. Then, Barak's grim voice cut through the noise.
"There's a masquerade. Neutral venue. Two weeks. All five families."
My head snapped up, my carefully constructed composure momentarily fracturing. "Sinveer?" The question was sharper than intended.
"He'll be there," Barak confirmed, his gaze hard. "Everyone will be watching him."
I leaned forward, the carefully cultivated mask back in place. My words dripped with a venomous certainty. "Then we don't just strike. We ruin him."
Silence descended. Three heads swiveled towards me, their expressions a mixture of surprise and a grudging respect. Gabriel's glare was intense, a silent reprimand, but he said nothing.
"At the masquerade," I continued, my voice low and steady, commanding attention, "we show these families who Sinveer De Luna really is. We cut his empire out from under him. Publicly. Irrevocably."
Loaded glances were exchanged between the men.
Nicu offered a slow nod, a flicker of genuine admiration in his eyes. "I like her style, Gabriel." Gabriel's silence was a palpable tension, a blade held against my skin.